January 13, 2009

A Letter to Ms. Emma Modrate, Street Fellatrix

Dearest Ms. Modrate:

We read with interest the article in The Sun, which described in detail your recent unfortunate legal entanglements resulting from your cheeky habit of performing public acts of an oral nature on the sidewalk outside a Durham pub.

As the story goes, you and your lucky boyfriend (an indiscriminating chap named Liam Dougherty) were loitering in front of an establishment called Yates. Suddenly, overcome by an unpremeditated spasm of romance, you took one last drag on that Pall Mall parked seductively twixt your cherubic lips, spat the butt to the gutter, daintily squatted to your knees and gave a prolonged mouth-hug to your beau's adventuresome pants worm.

Unfortch, the escapade was preserved in its entirety on surveillance camera, recording the reactions of dozens of passers-by and a decidedly awkward conversation between your squeeze and a nearby hobo while you were busily playing Mozart's Symphony for the Skin Flute in D.

Honestly, can't a gal get any privacy??

Fact is, we consider "Sidewalk Hummer with Hobo" to be a groundbreaking work of performance art. It's also an effective public service advertisement; what better way to warn against the perils of alcohol? The sight of you sucking the syphilis out of a bloke's shame hose near the front entrance to a pub undoubtedly put everyone who witnessed it off booze for a month. So brava, and kudos.

And while some may castigate you for extreme sluttiosity, count us not amongst their ranks. We are not in the business of placing fatwas on the heads of whores, such as those irritable jihadis who recently announced their desire to decapitate Madonna (Those crazy jihadis! While we can think of dozens of reasons to behead Madonna, her slutnicity is one of her few mitigating attributes).

So pay no attention to the movement afoot in Great Britain to crown you "Chavette of the Century." Shrug off those who might rudely compare your looks to a pre-op Augustus Gloop. Get up off your knees, gargle with scope, hold your head high and move on. Attagirl.

Oh, would you like a wetnap? A tic-tac, maybe? Some penicillin? Ms. Modrate?

We appreciate the kind of gal whose hair pie doubles as an ice box. Moreover, it's the only way you could conceivably compel us to reach betwixt your thighs. However, while we always like our brew with a nice healthy head, that's hardly what we had in mind. And although we shudder to contemplate where you might have stored the pretzels, we'd be much more impressed if you did the same trick with a keg.

At any rate, thanks for the suds. You can pull your dress down now. By the way, do you have a bottle-opener? Oh. We see.

hink about. So who better to write a charming book called "A Prayer Book for Spouses," which includes a Catholic sex prayer that opposite-married heterosexuals can say together before getting down to the unpleasant business of spousal coitus. Just prior to part where the wife does her duty by bending to her husband's will and allowing his spitting sin-serpent to spelunk in that place "down there" where Cathy-lick babies shoot out with alarming frequency, the couple gets down on their knees for a Jesus-approved orally-delivered prologue.

This is a sticky wicket, natch, as The Bible gives little reason to believe that God wants to listen to us praying about S-E-C-K-S. So as one might imagine, the priests who wrote the prayer went through many drafts before getting it just right. Thanks to our underground cadre of ninja operatives posing as sensitive altar boys, we were able to get our hands on an early version. You're welcome.

This is a sticky wicket, natch, as The Bible gives little reason to believe that God wants to listen to us praying about S-E-C-K-S. So as one might imagine, the priests who wrote the prayer went through many drafts before getting it just right. Thanks to our underground cadre of ninja operatives posing as sensitive altar boys, we were able to get our hands on an early version. You're welcome.

heterosexuals can say together before getting down to the unpleasant business of spousal coitus. Just prior to part where the wife does her duty by bending to her husband's will and allowing his spitting sin-serpent to spelunk in that place "down there" where Cathy-lick babies shoot out with alarming frequency, the couple gets down on their knees for a Jesus-approved orally-delivered prologue.

This is a sticky wicket, natch, as The Bible gives little reason to believe that God wants to listen to us praying about S-E-C-K-S. So as one might imagine, the priests who wrote the prayer went through many drafts before getting it just right. Thanks to our underground cadre of ninja operatives posing as sensitive altar boys, we were able to get our hands on an early version. You're welcome.

As we all know, Cathy-lick priests are experts on everything sexual. Of course they're all celibate (wink-wink), so hippity-dippity is pretty much all they ever think about. So who better to write a charming book called "A Prayer Book for Spouses," which includes a Catholic sex prayer that opposite-married heterosexuals can say together before getting down to the unpleasant business of spousal coitus. Just prior to part where the wife does her duty by bending to her husband's will and allowing his spitting sin-serpent to spelunk in that place "down there" where Cathy-lick babies shoot out with alarming frequency, the couple gets down on their knees for a Jesus-approved orally-delivered prologue.